They didn’t have a plan so much as guidelines.

The witches didn’t know what was required to break the spell, and Abel was being extremely tight-lipped about it. Despite the spell not hitting Arulean, his intended target, the fact that it was causing distress among Arulean’s ranks was enough satisfaction for Abel. According to Cynthia, one of the witches who had come to visit the Shadow Pack with Blake, Abel was claiming there was no cure to his spell. She was quick to reassure him that there was always a way to counter a spell. They just had to figure out what it was.

So far nothing had worked, so they suggested a different approach, and that approach was Dylan.

Dylan was tasked with spending as much time with Blake as he could, in the hope that something about his presence would spark Blake’s memory enough to shake off the lingering effects of the fog that surrounded it.

That, as it turned out, was easier said than done.

They spent much of the first few days together.

They went on walks together, and while Blake knew the castle well, he didn’t know their shared history. So Dylan spent much of the time imparting small nuggets of their past to Blake. They had kissed in this hall. They had stargazed from this balcony. They had schemed about their mate charade in this room. A charade which then became reality.

“It’s weird,” Blake mused as they stood on a balcony. He was bent forward, forearms resting on the railing as he gazed out over the grounds. “I remember helping out a soldier while I was a spy here, but I don’t remember a single detail of it.”

Dylan exhaled in a soft snort. He stood beside Blake, leaning back against the railing with his hands resting idly on his belly. “It wasn’t exactly a well-thought out plan.”

“I’ll say. Claiming you as my mate? I could have just as easily convinced them you were an old friend come to visit.”

“Perhaps,” Dylan said, trailing off as he lifted his chin, gazing up at the impressive outer stone work of the castle. “But you’ve always been stubborn in getting what you want, and you saw it as an opportunity to do just that.”

“I will admit, that does sound an awful lot like me.” Dylan heard the subtle chuckle in his voice, amusement and thoughtfulness in equal measure. “And if I’ve loved you for as long as you claim, then...yeah, I can see why I did that.”

“It was a terrible plan, but it worked.”

“So it seems.” The amusement leaked out of his voice, leaving only the thoughtfulness, it sounded strangely barren. Dylan tilted his head to catch a glimpse of Blake’s profile. There was a smile on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance, unseeing and solemn.

When Blake turned to look at him, Dylan forced a smile he hoped looked genuine.

On most of their walks, they were able to find someone to look after Lily, allowing them the freedom to talk openly. They had plenty of friends who were eager to see the situation resolved, and were therefore more than willing to watch their daughter. But on some of their walks, she joined them, and both she and Dylan regaled Blake with stories of their memories together.

Blake listened in silence, only commenting when it was necessary. His smile remained fixed, turning up a fraction when Lily turned to look at him, but fading again when she looked away. His eyes were distant as he listened, occasionally growing hazy to the point where Dylan wondered if he was truly listening at all.

At times like those, Dylan would place a hand on his arm, startling Blake out of his reveries. He would smile, channeling all the kind and understanding patience he could, hoping the feelings came through in his scent. Blake would look grateful, and pat his hand thankfully, but then he would move away, putting distance between them again that tugged at Dylan’s heart.

He remained smiling, but it was beginning to create an ache in his cheeks to match the one in his chest.

They ate dinner together in the dining hall, sitting amongst friends and surrounded by the general chatter of the pack. Every day, their friends asked if there’d been any improvement and every day, they both had to sheepishly dodge the question. Eventually, their friends stopped asking. They could see the answer in the space Blake put between their seats. The way he didn’t quite involve Dylan in the conversation. In the way he offered Dylan shrimp even though he was allergic to shellfish, only to pull back the dish with an embarrassed “Oh.”

As the days wore on, it became increasingly clear that Blake was getting bored of all the stories. Dylan had never been a particularly long-winded talker. He wasn’t capable of regaling Blake with the tales of their past in a grand, romantic way, such as Blake might have been able to. His words were clipped, factual, and short. The salient facts blurted out of his mouth as he remembered them, and he could tell Blake was getting tired of it.

Whenever he or Lily brought up a memory, he could see the frown fighting to tear through Blake’s easy going smile. He could see the slight press of his lips and the vague pinch in his brow. Blake had always been good at controlling his expression. It was part of what made him good at what he did. But Dylan had known him long enough, and had been watching him closely enough, that he noticed the twitch of annoyance in his temple and the flare of frustration in his eyes before he was able to stamp them out.

It made Dylan’s chest feel tight, but he supposed he could understand it. He, too, would get easily frustrated if he were constantly being told about things he didn’t remember.

So Dylan changed his tactics.

* * *

“It seems,” Rajiah had said one night when Dylan had been venting his concerns, pacing a groove into the floor. “That Blake doesn’t like it when things are out of his control. Something I believe we can all understand. Perhaps then, instead of just bringing up things he can’t remember, you should try being more...active?”

And Dylan had stopped pacing, eyeing the dragon curiously, wheels turning in his mind. Because that, he had to admit, was a good idea.

So when they next found themselves alone together, Dylan suggested they do things differently. He could tell Blake all day long that they knew each other, but he wanted to prove it. So he spent time with Blake when he was in front of his computers, with a tablet in his lap. He let Blake ramble on and on about his newest coding projects and the things he was working on. He let Blake show him, biting his cheek to stay focused as his husband rambled on, doing his best not to let his boredom show.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate what Blake had to say. It was only that he’d heard it all so many times before. He didn’t understand half of it, and it was hard to wrap his brain around the other half. He just...didn’t do well with those kinds of things. It had never been a problem before, but Blake had been understanding back then. He’d been accommodating and able to tell when Dylan was at his wit’s end.

Back then Blake had loved him unconditionally, and Dylan’s inability to understand his work had never been a factor. He wasn’t so sure that was the case anymore.

So he kept a smile plastered on his face. He kept his eyes locked on what Blake showed him, alternating his gaze between whatever that happened to be and Blake’s face, trying to make himself appear interested even when his eyes started to feel dry and itchy. He made all the right understanding noises, gave one syllable words of encouragement and inserted questions to keep things moving along.

All the while, he sat idly by, leaning as close as he dared without touching Blake. He remembered every omega he’d ever seen try to entice an alpha, thinking about their demure postures and the way they batted their eyes. He thought of the sickeningly sweet scent they always seemed to give off as they posed their bodies to look submissive and tempting. So while he put on a charade of listening, he tried to pick apart typical omega behavior, and emulate it.

It felt awkward. His pregnancy, for one, got in the way and kept him from being able to fully put himself on display. He’d heard some alphas adored the sight of their mate’s pregnant bodies, but Blake wasn’t exactly in the right mindset to be his mate, was he? He might know the pup was his, but that didn’t mean he felt any attachment to the fact that he’d put it there.

Dylan’s legs felt stiff and awkward as he tried to cross them, uncross them, or fold them under him when he turned to the side. They were thick, corded muscle, the legs that had carried him through combat, sprinting and crouching in intervals for hours if not days at a time. They certainly weren’t the dainty, smooth, shapely legs of an omega.

His hips and torso felt like they didn’t bend in the right way to look appealing. He was far too aware of how defined his arms were. His hands were too wide and he struggled to find a comfortable position for them, often returning them to rest on his stomach in a position that felt both defensive and protective at the same time.

The only thing he could do that felt natural was to tilt his head to the side, bearing his neck in a manner that seemed almost innocent. He only hoped his scent was sweet and alluring, without the acidic edge caused by his frustration.

If Blake noticed any of his attempts, he gave no indication. At least not openly. He sat stiffly on the couch next to Dylan, laptop in his lap, and hands gesturing as he spoke. He barely turned his head, and when he did, it was only to briefly glance sidelong at him before looking quickly away.

His scent was carefully neutral, lacking any strong alpha notes, which in itself was distressing.

Eventually, Dylan gave up his attempts. With a huff of dissatisfaction, he let his body slump back into the couch. Half-turned to face Blake, he folded one arm over the back of the couch, letting his head flop down to rest on it. His other hand idly traced patterns on his sweater above his belly. He let his eyelids droop and his smile fade. He could feel himself dozing as he listened to Blake drone on.

In a way, it was familiar enough to be comforting.

“...and I was thinking about coding a few new levels for that game Lily likes so much,” Blake was saying. “She said she’s beaten it several times already. Apparently even Remi’s beaten it, and, at least according to her, he’s terrible at video games. Not that I blame the poor kid. He does have two archaic dragons for parents. Rajiah is a little better than Arulean, at least. I don’t think Arulean has ever touched a video game. Hell, he was surprised when I said you could play solitaire on the computer.”

Dylan snorted softly, his eyes drooping as he mumbled against his arm. “We should introduce him to Tetris and see how frustrated he gets.”

Blake’s laughter exploded out of his mouth, startling them both. Dylan’s eyes opened wide in surprise as he felt the man rock the couch with it. Blake turned to look at Dylan fully for the first time since they sat down, his eyes were pulled up at the corners and a wide smirk brightened his face. “Now that’s not a bad idea.”

Dylan tried not to squirm under the attention, but he couldn’t help the warmth that bubbled inside him.

After that, Blake’s posture relaxed significantly, as he eased himself into the couch. Even his rambling became softer, the previous tension abating before Dylan had even been aware it was there. Silence tended to break up his words, but it wasn’t a silence that either of them felt pressured to fill.

At some point, they pulled up a movie on Blake’s laptop. It was an old one that Blake loved and Dylan hated. He grumbled, and was rewarded with a soft chuckle. Blake ended up leaning closer to him, just a little, but it was enough for Dylan to rest his head on the edge of Blake’s shoulder.

And for a while, Dylan could pretend everything was alright.

* * *

“You keep backing yourself into a corner,” Blake said, an amused smile gracing his lips. He sat leaning forward, elbows on the table as he set aside the piece he had just taken.

Dylan glared at where it now stood, alongside with the rest of Blake’s acquired pieces. “That was in the middle of the board,” he grumbled.

Blake’s chuckle was soft, head pulling back slightly but Dylan was far too frustrated to enjoy it. “It’s just a figure of speech, darlin’.”

The pet name made something writhe in Dylan’s chest. A flicker of warmth and heat that was immediately stamped out. It wasn’t a genuine term of endearment. It was mocking if anything, said with the smug voice of victory. But still, the fact that he was comfortable enough around Dylan to joke like that was a step in the right direction.

Dylan just wished it wasn’t at the expense of his own pride.

“Time’s a ticking.” Dylan didn’t need to look up to know Blake was smirking that infuriatingly perfect smirk of his.

“Shut up.” Dylan’s jaw clenched, eyes flickering over the board. There were still plenty of pieces on it, but there were far more white than black. He knew what all the pieces did and how they could move, but it was hard for him to see ahead. For the life of him, he couldn’t see past the movement of one piece at a time. He just saw the jumbled chaos of a battlefield instead of a plethora of possibilities.

He didn’t know why he agreed to play chess with Blake. He played the game like he did his job, seeing each piece’s possible moves, both individually and how they all coordinated together. He saw his opponent’s pieces and how they could move too, including all the ways he could counteract that. Blake was all calculation and careful maneuvering, while Dylan was straightforward with his attacks.

It was little wonder that Blake demolished him in a game of strategy. He had stopped playing the game with him years ago, vowing to never do so again.

That, however, was before Blake lost his memory. This time, Dylan had been the one to suggest it after watching Blake pace the sitting rooms in the castle, fingers lingering over a beautiful, hand carved chess set and table that were set up beside one of the windows. He had suggested it because he knew Blake loved chess, and because he wanted to show Blake he could share in the things he loved. He’d been expecting to lose, but he’d hoped that knowledge would prevent his fuming anger. He was wrong.

Despite his playful, nudging and teasing prods, Blake was patient as he waited for Dylan to make a move. Again, Dylan didn’t need to look up to know Blake was enjoying his struggle.

After hesitating over a piece, Dylan moved a different one, slapping it down on it’s new checkered square with an air of determined finality.

Blake moved fluidly, barely pausing as he lifted a hand and gracefully moved one of his own pieces to that very same square, taking Dylan’s piece and adding it to his growing collection.

Dylan groaned loudly, slouching, his head lolling until it rested on the back of the chair.

“I get the impression you’re not very good at this game.” Blake’s tone was amused, and Dylan’s pleasure at hearing it wrestled with the irritation of his imminent demise on the board.

He lifted his head, glaring across the table, lips twisted into a frown. “I’m letting you win,” he deadpanned, expression unwavering.

There was a second of silence, followed by another. Blake’s smile dropped, eyes widening, and then all at once he lurched forward with a loud laugh.

Despite himself, Dylan felt the corner of his lips quirk upward. Without saying another word, he reached forward and moved another piece across the chessboard, unceremoniously taking one of Blake’s pawns. It wasn’t a great prize, but it would have to do.

“Now, no need to hold yourself back on my account,” Blake said as he wiped the corner of his eye, grin wide and gleaming as he reached across the board to move a piece. Dylan held his breath, and let it out in a sigh of relief when Blake didn’t take another of his pieces. “Seriously, though,” he leaned forward on his elbows once again, pinning Dylan with a curious stare, one eyebrow raised. “I’m getting the impression that you’re not really a fan of this game, so why’d you suggest we play it?”

Dylan shrugged, fingertips tipping his queen back and forth, keeping his eyes on the board. “Because you like it.” When he finally glanced up through his lashes, Blake was no longer looking at him. His eyes were cast down at the board, as if studying the game, but his smile had turned soft. It made Dylan’s stomach flip.

“Thanks,” Blake said softly.

Dylan shrugged again, moving his queen. “It’s the least I can do.”

A gleam entered Blake’s eyes as he straightened a little, a familiar smirk playing across his lips. “I hope you remember that when I win.” He reached forward, moving his own queen with graceful fingers. “Check-mate.”

* * *

Sometimes, when they were alone, Dylan could almost convince himself that things were back to normal. Almost.

When Dylan stopped recalling memories and focused on whatever task was at hand, Blake would slip back into something that was familiar. The tension in his shoulders eased and his smile would come a lot more readily to his lips. His eyes would squint at the corners and light up with mischief as he teased Dylan.

There was none of the warmth that usually showed through his smile, nor was there any of the fondness Dylan was used to seeing in his gaze. The bond between them still felt cold, empty, and gray. The touches they shared were shy, accidental, and didn’t linger. There was no intent behind Blake’s words or actions other than simply being comfortable in Dylan’s company.

And like a man dying of thirst, Dylan accepted that this was enough for now.

One step at a time.

Every smile and every friendly glance made something in his chest writhe, making him want to squirm with warmth and the promise of more to come. Every time Blake laughed and every time he teased, Dylan felt hope that it was a step in the right direction, a step toward his memory recovering, a step toward getting his mate back.

It was almost shameful how so little could give him such a high, but he was desperate for his mate, and when faced with Blake’s approving smile, it was hard to feel any shame.

The moments of satisfaction, however, were short lived. Only ever lasting as long as they were alone together. As soon as anyone else entered the picture, the illusion was shattered. Because the moment Blake was around those people he actually remembered, Dylan could see the truth behind the facade.

He couldn’t deny Blake had, indeed, loosened up around him. He seemed to have found some semblance of comfort in Dylan’s presence. He didn’t want to take it for granted, but he couldn’t help the bitter taste on his tongue or the bile in his throat when he saw Blake truly relax when he was around others.

When their friends came into the room, or they came across them in the hall or grounds, the remaining tension Dylan hadn’t noticed was there slowly leached out of Blake’s shoulders. His smile reached his eyes. His laugh became fuller. His casual touches were more freely given and the playful light in his eyes burned brighter. It was Blake, uninhibited and unrestrained, natural in his home and among his pack.

And it was only then Dylan realized that despite the small steps they were making, Blake was still holding much of himself back when they were alone. It was then Dylan could really see the way trepidation, hesitancy, and control crept into his demeanor whenever they were together. Blake was a master of control. It was how he was able to infiltrate any organization. It was why he’d been such a highly valued spy. But Dylan didn’t want Blake to feel like he had to exert that control around him.

He watched Blake from across the castle grounds, from across the mess hall, from across rooms. He watched as he interacted with their friends, with other members of the pack. He watched, feeling his brows furrow and his lips purse, heart twisting and his stomach writhing. He watched as all the butterflies that fluttered in his chest whenever Blake laughed with him burned away to ash as he heard Blake’s more genuine laughter with others.

He watched, feeling the shadows creep in on him, threatening to squeeze his lungs and drag him down. He watched, and when Blake caught his eye, he smiled. He forced it onto his face until he felt his lips crack, until his cheeks ached. He smiled, even as his heart sank, halfheartedly returning casual waves from across the room.

It hurt. It hurt that people Blake hadn’t even been particularly close to saw such a genuine, unguarded Blake, while Dylan was faced with fences. With walls. With barriers.

Dylan, who had pledged his life and love to Blake. Dylan, whose soul was tied to Blake’s. Dylan, who had given up his job and settled down when he didn’t want to, all for Blake. Dylan, who stretched his body for the sake of bearing Blake’s children. Dylan, who dealt with so much. All while Blake just lived his life, not having to worry about a thing, doing something so reckless as throwing himself in front of a spell, and now...

And now Dylan, who had given everything for Blake, until he was in danger of losing himself, was forced to the sidelines, forced to be held at arm’s length, while Blake continued his life without him.

He smiled when Blake looked at him, but it didn’t touch his eyes. He didn’t think he could fully damp down his glare, so he turned away, putting his back to him and hoping, for once, that Blake had forgotten how to read him.

* * *

Despite their progress, Dylan wanted more. He had never been a patient man, and now was no exception. Every smile he saw Blake give so freely and openly to others grated against his skin. Every casual touch given away was a fire in his chest, an itch beneath his skin. An itch to be closer to Blake, to be intimate, to be familiar and close in the way they once were.

Every touch bestowed on others by Blake was a mockery of their mateship. It was a burning reminder that Blake hadn’t properly or lovingly touched him in months. It was a reminder that Blake actively held himself back from touching Dylan, even casually.

Dylan’s body burned with need for the touch of his mate. He was starving, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could play this game of patience and waiting.

Since Blake already seemed somewhat comfortable with him, he started pushing the boundaries. He started reaching for Blake when they sat close, trailing his fingers along Blake’s arm. Started resting a hand, an arm, or his head on Blake’s shoulder or reaching out to rub his leg beneath the table. Started wrapping a casual arm around his waist when they were talking to others.

They were simple touches. Ones that neither of them had even thought about before. It had just been habit, instant gratification from a simple touch, a need to be close just because they wanted to and were compelled to. Because they couldn’t pass the time without some sort of physical contact between them.

Now, however, Blake pulled away from his touch.

He would stiffen, his smile becoming strained and the lines around his eyes would appear. He would gently disentangle himself, move away to put space between them, pat Dylan gently as if that were a good consolation prize. He was polite about it. He probably thought he was subtle about it. He was not. Dylan could read his discomfort clear as day. He could smell it in his scent, sour and twisted, an acidic, smoky scent that soiled his usual musk of earth and spice.

It made Dylan nauseous. It made the tears he wouldn’t allow sting behind his eyes again. It made irritation, anger, and frustration burn across his skin, tensing his muscles and his body with it. Dylan struggled to keep it out of his own scent. He struggled to keep his own scent anything but sweet and sickeningly calm.

And he smiled through it all. Every touch that was brushed off. Every twist and stab to his gut. He smiled through it, but his smile was strained and thin.

He smiled and temporarily gave his alpha space before moving in toward him again. Because that was what a good omega did. And Dylan would be the perfect omega if it meant his alpha would welcome him back into his arms.

* * *

“Blake,” Dylan said, keeping his voice even and reasonable.

“Mmm?” Blake hummed, eyebrow cocked and head tilting slightly in Dylan’s direction, but his eyes remained on the tablet in his hand. The fingers of his other hand moved over the surface quickly.

“What’re you doing?” Curiosity. He had to shoot for curiosity. Curiosity was good, pleasant and above all, innocent. The irritation and exasperation he actually felt was not.

“Just going over a few of the changes I’m going to implement into the castle’s security system,” Blake said absently. “Double checking and all that. Should be good to go for tomorrow.”

“Great,” Dylan deadpanned, then sighed. They were both lying on their bed, fully clothed with the fluffy blankets beneath them. Blake lay on his back, propped up against the pillows, and Dylan lay on his side, facing him. There was only a couple feet between them, but it felt like miles.

Dylan waited, counting his breaths. One. Two. Three. Four... Blake showed no sign of finishing anytime soon.

Dylan sighed, attempting to keep his voice light. “How much longer do you think it’ll take?”

“Not too long. I’m about halfway through...hey!” He turned as Dylan snatched the tablet out of his hands, finally looking at him. He pursed his lips in a pout, eyes narrowing. “I was using that…”

He reached for it again, but Dylan rolled onto his back, letting the tablet fall to the far side of the bed and out of Blake’s reach. When he rolled back onto his side to face Blake, the man’s lips were twisted into a scowl, but he was at least turned on his side, facing Dylan.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he drawled. There was irritation there, but not enough heat to make Dylan worry.

Dylan met Blake’s glare with one of his own, pressing his lips into a thin line. “That’s not what we’re supposed to be doing right now and you know it. You said it needed to be done by tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but…”

“So it can wait.”

Blake sighed, body sagging into the bed with defeat, and Dylan took it as a sign to move forward. He scooted across the space between them, a strained awkward movement with the size of his belly, but he managed. When the space between them reduced significantly, he laid his hand between them in an open invitation.

Blake eyed it, a blank, and almost sad expression crossing his face before he put his hand in Dylan’s. Their fingers still fit together like puzzle pieces, and it sent a shiver down Dylan’s spine. Out of habit, he shifted position, bumping their knees together and pushing his foot between Blake’s calves. He stiffened and in that brief moment, Dylan feared Blake might pull away. But after a few deep exhales, he visibly relaxed. Not completely, much to Dylan’s dissatisfaction, but it was something.

“Soooo,” Blake said, eyes dropping to stare at their hands, one finger restlessly tapping against Dylan’s knuckles. “How’d we do this?”

He glanced up at Dylan through his lashes, and Dylan just smiled. It was a small smile but for once, it was genuine, and amused. “We just scent each other.”

Blake snorted, rolling his eyes as he glanced away. “Yeah, obviously, but like...” He trailed off, eyes flickering back to Dylan’s. “This feels kinda awkward, doesn’t it?”

Dylan ignored the twist in his heart, forcing his smile to stay in place. He didn’t know what to say to that. No, he didn’t find this awkward, because this was normal, something mates did all the time. Logically, he could understand Blake’s discomfort but...it hurt to do so.

The idea was simple really. Scenting was a natural part of mateship and family. It was merely spending time to share and revel in each other’s scents. To mark each other with them. The witch, Jesse, had told them scent formed the strongest memories among humans, and it was no doubt tripled for shifters. They hoped the mingling of their scents would help Blake pass through the fog of his curse and trigger his memories.

They lay in silence for several minutes. Blake’s eyes stayed on the bed between them but his dexterous fingers idly played with Dylan’s knuckles. “I know...” he started, then the thought was cut off. Dylan watched as his brow furrowed, lips pursing tight as he frowned. There was a war going on behind his eyes, and Dylan wished desperately he could reach out to him through their bond. “I know this is going to sound terrible, but...I don’t really remember your scent.” He scowled, rolling back a fraction and waving his free hand to gesture around the room. “Well, obviously I know your scent. It’s all over this room, and I’ve been spending time with you, but...I don’t remember your scent. Your...raw scent. It’s...It’s like I can recognize your scent, but I don’t know it well enough to remember it.”

Like with a stranger you’ve met once before or family members you rarely see. Like with friends and pack mates. Like with acquaintances.

It went unsaid, but that didn’t stop it from driving a knife into Dylan’s heart.

He took a deep breath, forcing his chest to relax. Then he smiled, small and wry. “Why don’t you find out?” he said, trying to keep his tone light and teasing, but it still came out sounding breathless. He tilted his head back into the pillows, exposing the long column of his neck, and he waited.

He waited and he watched as a conflicted expression flashed over Blake’s face. But then his face hardened, lips pursing as determination filled his eyes. He scooted forward, closing the gap between them even further. His free arm hesitantly reached out, slowly resting over Dylan’s waist. It was almost a mechanical movement, without an ounce of familiar comfort, but it would do for now.

Then, Blake leaned forward, tucking his head into the crook of Dylan’s neck, and Dylan’s eyes fluttered closed. He let out a rattling breath, tilting his face further into the pillows as Blake’s nose and lips ghosted against the sensitive skin of his neck.

He let his scent cascade out of him. He concentrated on Blake, on everything he felt for him. The love, affection, fondness, and the safety he felt when he was encircled in Blake’s arms. The warmth when they were together. The security and protectiveness. The desire to run by his side and fight with him. It was fierce. It was fire. And it was overwhelming.

Dylan let it surge from him, feeling the glands in his neck throb with his pulse.

He heard the hitch in Blake’s throat and felt his arm tighten around his waist. Blake’s nose brushed along Dylan’s neck, lips trailing lightly in its wake, sending shivers down his spine.

His own breathing grew ragged and shallow, and his pulse quickened as Blake shifted closer to him on the bed. They were close enough that Dylan’s belly brushed against Blake’s with every breath he took. Their legs lay loosely entangled, and Dylan hooked his heel around Blake’s calf, legs tensing to pull them closer. His hand in Blake’s squeezed, encouraging him and at the same time, desperate for an anchor. His other hand reached across the small distance to curl his fingers around Blake’s shirt.

Eyes squeezed shut, head tilted into the pillows, he breathed heavily through parted lips as he shared his scent with his mate.

His initial hesitancy gone, Blake grew braver. He was either encouraged by Dylan’s movements and submission, or tempted by his scent. Either way, he pressed more firmly into Dylan’s neck. His nose thrust against the sensitive flesh, pressing into the gland that felt like it was swelling and throbbing as it intensified under the faint promise of a mate’s touch.

Blake breathed in deeply, and Dylan felt the rush of cold air pass over his skin before Blake let the breath out in a long, shaky exhale. It was hot against the cool skin of his throat, making Dylan shudder. Blake breathed in again, long and steady. When he pressed his lips to the hollow of Dylan’s throat, Dylan couldn’t help the whine that escaped his parted lips, and his fingers curled tighter into Blake’s shirt.

Blake’s scent washed over him, heady, musky, and thick. Normally, his scent was extremely mild, especially for an alpha. He had a scent that was a clear designator of what he was, but the intensity of it had always been mild and strangely calming. There was no pride, aggression, or territorialism that leaked through. It was all the flavors of an alpha with the presence of a beta. It was yet another reason Blake was so good at putting people at their ease and integrating himself into new groups. It was easier when the other alphas didn’t see him as a threat.

That was, however, under normal circumstances.

Here and now, Blake let loose any sort of leash he normally had on his scent. Encouraged by Dylan’s own omega scent, Blake’s grew strong and powerful. It was dark and earthy, yet remained refreshingly light and clean, like a forest after the rain and fresh tilled soil. He smelled distinctly of spice and vaguely of smoke, a musky scent that clung thick to the back of Dylan’s throat and a spice that gave it a cutting edge setting his nerves alight.

He smelled of alpha but more than that, he smelled of Blake.

When teeth grazed across his collarbones, Dylan keened, back arching and head tilting back to expose his throat more fully.

But Blake pulled back, his movements jerky as if he was startled. Dylan tilted his head back, eyes fluttering open as a confused whine escaped his lips. Blake had pulled away, but he hadn’t gone very far. His head had reared back to get a good look at Dylan, his eyes were lidded and his irises dark. His lips were parted, and his chest heaved with soft pants. He looked startled, as if jerked from a trance. But he hadn’t pulled away completely. The trance was still there, eyes still dark and hungry, the alpha in him still lulled and drawn to Dylan’s omega.

He was clearly at war with himself, considering whether or not to pull away or dive back in.

Dylan watched, his own mind reeling as he tried to come back to his senses. His body screamed for Blake’s touch, every nerve ending quivering with need. When Blake’s arm started to lift from his waist, his body already shifting as if to roll over and away, Dylan surged forward. He wouldn’t let Blake go so easily.

He rolled toward him, shifting closer on the bed, pulling their legs together and using his grip on Blake’s shirt to tug him forward. He buried his face in Blake’s neck, his nose immediately finding and nudging his scent gland. He breathed in deep and quick, letting Blake’s scent wash over him in and heavy, heady rush, holding it in his lungs for several moments before finally letting it out. His body shook with it. He pressed closer, lips and nose brushing over Blake’s neck as he buried himself there, reveling in the feeling of his skin warm and soft against his own.

His scent was familiar and comforting, warm and heavy. It wrapped around him like a familiar blanket, keeping him safe, secure, and grounded. He missed this. He missed this with an intensity that had his body shaking. It was a need to scent his mate, to be in his arms, and it was a need he’d been holding back on a tight leash for months.

He breathed in again, and again. He let Blake’s scent roll through him, mixing and mingling with his own. He picked it apart, reading his scent like a book. In a state such as this, there was nothing Blake could hide from him. Dylan may not always be skilled at reading his face, but this he knew. This was instinct, and instinct took control.

He breathed in deeply again, letting Blake’s scent hang heavy on his tongue, clinging to the back of his throat. Beneath the dark earthy tones and the sharp spice, he could smell his trepidation, nervousness, and his wariness. It was a sour undertone, salty and bitter on the tip of his tongue, leaving an aftertaste that clung. But it wasn’t strong enough to sour his entire scent, and it was heavily diluted by much heartier scents.

Dylan could smell that his curiosity was strong. It was an intrigue akin to perked ears and an alert tail. His alpha was intrigued by Dylan, and that was a good sign. More than that, there was a rumbling of enjoyment. The pleased notes in his scent weren’t as strong as they were. They used to be loving, fond or carrying the notes of deep-seated attraction. These were lighter, curious, pleased, and exploratory.

It wasn’t the scent of a man in love, but that of a man who wasn’t opposed to what was happening. The scent of an alpha faced with an omega he didn’t necessarily object to. One of new explorations, held on a loose leash of trepidation and hesitancy, but driven forward with eager curiosity.

Dylan could tell this wasn’t the Blake who’d loved him unconditionally, or the Blake who was bound to him heart and soul. But it was Blake, and it was a Blake who felt drawn to him despite all his reservations, who couldn’t resist the lure of Dylan’s body and scent despite having no memories of previously enjoying it.

And for now, that was enough. It was enough to give Dylan hope. It was enough to spark a heat deep in his gut, sending waves of warmth and flame out to his limbs.

Dylan let himself get lost in it. He let it fuel his own scent, and he reveled at the way they mingled together. It wasn’t the same as their combined scent used to be, but it was close enough, and it was the closest they’d been in months.

Without really thinking about it, Dylan’s lips started moving along Blake’s neck, teeth grazing his soft skin teasingly. He ducked lower, nibbling playfully on Blake’s collarbones, a shiver running through him as Blake’s breath hitched. Then he dragged his lips back up to his neck, latching onto the sensitive skin that covered his scent gland and sucking gently.

Blake’s grip on him tightened, and Dylan could feel his blunt nails digging into him through his clothes. A deep rumble sounded in Blake’s throat, resounding through his chest. A soft sound came from Dylan in response, an omega’s call to his alpha.

Then Blake’s hands were on his shoulders, pushing him away. He whined as he was forced out of the warm safety of Blake’s neck. They lay there for a moment, mere inches apart. Dylan could feel Blake’s breath on his lips, cheeks, and on his throat. His eyes were lidded, and Dylan felt dizzy with the scent that surrounded him, lured him in. It was intoxicating and oh so familiar, and he wanted more.

Blake’s eyes flickered, focused on Dylan’s, and a sharp edge of indecision broke through the haze. Dylan could smell Blake’s increased anxiety through his scent, souring the smell of fresh earth and spices. The hands on Dylan’s shoulders flexed, but they neither pulled him closer nor pushed him away.

They were hovering on a fine line, a delicate balance, each of them wavering and uncertain as to which side they would fall.

But Dylan was tired of waiting.

He pushed forward, hands curling into Blake’s shirt. Before Blake could react, Dylan captured his lips, pressing their mouths together and tilting his head in just the right way to make them fit together perfectly.

The kiss was rough and hard, pushing them together with Dylan’s forward surge of momentum. But it softened quickly, Dylan’s lips sliding into place over Blake’s. They were so soft, so familiar. Blake’s taste on Dylan’s lips and his scent on his tongue.

Dylan had been craving this, had needed this, and now he was with his mate, kissing him. It was perfect. It was a reunion. It was...wrong. Something was wrong.

Blake had gone stock still beneath Dylan’s hands. His fingertips could feel the alpha’s heart pounding in his chest, but his body was frozen, every muscle stiff and tense and poised to snap. His lips were chillingly cold beneath Dylan’s. He wasn’t kissing him back, nor was he returning any sort of affection. Dylan breathed in deep, and caught the whiff of something cold and minty, a smell of frost entering Blake’s scent. A sour smell that tasted of anxiousness on his tongue.

It was more than just nerves or trepidation. It was starting to overpower the husky warm tones of budding desire and curiosity as they started to retreat from Blake’s scent. Dylan’s gut twisted, heart pounding and stomach rolling as fear clenched him tight. But it wasn’t disgust in Blake’s scent. It was something far more complex. It wasn’t outright rejection, but Blake pulled away from him all the same.

Hands pushed his shoulders, a jerking movement that was harsh and shocking, leaving Dylan slightly off balance as he was pulled from his haze. He blinked, trying to come back to himself, as Blake pulled away, pushing himself up until he was sitting, leaning back on one hand.

“Sorry, I…” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking away, across the room, anywhere but at Dylan. He chuckled, a weak and hollow attempt to lighten the situation. “Sorry about that. It was a little overwhelming.”

Dylan propped himself up on an elbow, brows furrowed as he licked his lips. His mouth felt impossibly dry. “You don’t remember.”

Blake looked at him then, mouth open and an answer on the tip of his tongue. But as his eyes met Dylan’s, his answer died in his throat and he clenched his jaw shut. He looked away, guilt shining in his eyes as he did so. The answer was clear in the way his body remained tense, poised to spring from the bed and away from Dylan.

Blake slung his feet over the edge of the bed, pushing himself up and stretching his arms over his head. “It was a long shot anyway,” he said casually, but it hadn’t been. It had been a good idea and a logical shot, and it still hadn’t worked. “They said we should try it at least once a day, to see if it works over time.” He still didn’t look at Dylan as he crossed the room, busying himself picking up his tablet and slipping on his shoes. “I’m just...gonna go check on a few things.” He glanced over his shoulder, the mask he put in place not able to fully hide the war being fought behind his eyes. His smile was weak. “See you at dinner?”

Dylan nodded, jaw clenched as he waved him away. He didn’t trust his voice, nor did he think his tongue could form words.

After Blake had all but run from the room, Dylan curled up in their bed, body forming a protective hunch over his belly. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathed in the lingering notes of their mingled scents, and allowed himself to cry.